And it is not surprising that such
a situation should have been particularly suggestive to a mind so
active as that of Lorenzo Bezan.
CHAPTER VII.
THE PRISONER.
TO know and fully realize the bitter severity exercised in the
Spanish prisons, both at Madrid and in Havana, one must have
witnessed it. Cold, dark and dreary cells, fit only to act as
supports to the upper and better lighted portions of the dismal
structure, are filled by those persons who have incurred in any way
the displeasure of the military board of commission. Here, in one of
the dampest and most dreary cells, immured with lizards, tarantulas,
and other vile and unwholesome reptiles, Captain Bezan, but so very
recently-risen from a sick bed, and yet smarting under his wounds,
found himself. He could now easily see the great mistake he had made
in thus addressing General Harero as he had done, and also, as he
knew very well the rigor of the service to which he was attached
when he considered for a moment, he had not the least possible doubt
that his sentence would be death.
As a soldier he feared not death; his profession and experience,
which had already made him familiar with the fell destroyer in every
possible form and shape, had taught him a fearlessness in this
matter; but to leave the air that Isabella Gonzales breathed, to be
thus torn away from the bright hopes that she had given rise to in
his breast, was indeed agony of soul to him now.
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